


Chosen One

by onotherflights



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, M/M, POV First Person, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Riding, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, that tail action tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: “Look at that,” he praises me, the hand that’s not tangled in my own rubbing over the expanse of my back. “You take it so well, darling.”I bite my lip, clench down just to hear the break in his breathing. He can’t see it, but I smirk. Two can play. I’ll show him just how well I can take it. Maybe he was the chosen one, but we’re all chosen for something.





	Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> welp, here we are. Carry on kind of took over my brain for these past few weeks and I’ve been lurking too long, time to write my own fic. I have something a bit longer and plot-focused in the works, but I guess I needed to expel this pwp trash monster first. The only real benefit to this is that if you like soft feels/boys and soppy writing, we’ll get on swell in the future. also, pretty sure this is the most explicit thing i've written in a long while so.... sorry?

———————————————-

 

I still want to die kissing him. 

I suppose I’m off to a good start, considering I’m already undead. It just doesn’t feel that way when we’re like this. 

We’re in our bed, and that alone is something I never could have dreamt of even when he was the only thing I dreamt of for months. Really it’s not our bed, it’s his. It lives in his room in the flat he shares with his best mate, and when I’m not here it’s his alone. 

But I’m here, and I’m always here because he tells me the left side smells like me every time I’m away and it makes my unbeating heart ache and I return to him. Always. 

So it’s our bed. 

It’s our bed and our sheets and his thumb brushes against my cheek. My eyes are still closed, and he brushes his lips over them. His kisses trail down to my cheek, my jaw, my neck. 

“Good morning,” I mumble, my voice rough with sleep. He likes it, I can feel it from the way he’s pressing against my thigh. “Simon.”

He hums, pleased, and continues mapping my body with his lips. I call him by his first name to make him happy, and because we have an unwritten rule to be soft with each other until after the first cup of tea. After that all bets are off. 

He’s at my navel when I open my eyes to see him looking up at me. 

“Good morning darling,” he teases, then proceeds to push my pants down my hips. I groan because he knows I hate when he teases me with that word but I also love the way he takes me into his mouth. 

I watch him with my fangs pushing into my bottom lip because I don’t really care that he sees them. He likes them. Judging by the way his eyes are closed now, he likes every part of me. 

I push my fingers into his curls, tugging just slightly. Snow still sucks cock like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He casts small flicks of his tongue that drive me to madness, puts his pink lips around the head like it’s all he can do. Then he takes me in earnest, all the way down, and I grip the pillow on his side of the bed. 

He notices when I wince, when the soft groan that slips past my fangs is out of discomfort. He stops, letting my cock fall from his mouth with a soft pop, and I briefly consider starting a new war. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks me, his eyes open with genuine concern. I’ve never asked Simon to stop, but he always listens to me. Sometimes I think he knows whether I like something or not before I do. 

“Don’t you dare,” I grit out, brushing my fingers through his wild hair again, “it’s just… the, that,” 

I can’t think, I just point at the window helplessly. 

“The large yellow thing,” I supply, and Snow laughs. He’s centimeters from my cock and he’s laughing at me. 

“The sun?” 

I nod, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip. It’s wet. Simon nips it playfully. Then he lets his wings out. 

They surround us, shielding me from the discomfort of the sun and amplifying the gasp I make when he takes me into his mouth again. 

When I fall apart, Snow is there to catch me. 

He gives me a few moments to recover before he starts mapping his way back up to his original starting point. I smile when I kiss him. It’s disgusting how happy I am with him in the mornings. Especially when the mornings start like that. 

He buries his face in my neck, the full weight of him on top of me. I run my fingers over his bare back, avoiding the spots where the wings sprout. Simon has these freckles that live on his shoulders and fall down his back, and I learned the pattern of his constellation long ago. 

“Thank you,” I murmur against his hairline, planting a peck there. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, love.” 

I smirk, shifting my hip. I can feel he’s still hard against my thigh. I reach down to touch him. 

“And what are we going to do with you?” 

Simon looks up at me, mischief in his eyes. Then he says the magic words. 

“Penny’s not home.” 

There’s an understood rule between Simon and Penny that as long as one of them can’t hear the other, anything goes. Except the shower. She’s forbidden us from having sex in the shower, which is honestly one of the greater tragedies in my life. 

But Penny started a new job, and she’s always with her boyfriend anyway, and she’s too far away to know about anything we get up to. 

Still, there’s something about our bed. Something about the safety of being under Snow’s wings, like we exist in our own private universe. When we’re here, it can be simple. This calm lull in our life, it’s not going to last. The magical won’t just let Simon Snow go on and live life as a normal. Well, a normal with wings and a tail. 

In this moment though, he’s still only mine. We’re still in our bed. The boy is in my arms, and no one is around to say I can’t kiss him until my lips are sore. 

I pull Snow up, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“Good,” I murmur, a low whisper against his lips. “Then I don’t need to be quiet when you fuck me.” 

Simon Snow growls at me then, low in his throat. He sounds like a merwolf, for snake’s sake. It shouldn’t make my cock twitch, but so be it. 

His kisses crash against me, and it’s all I can do to keep up with him. I help him pull my shirt over my head, and my pants are already on the floor from earlier. 

I only say it to get him going, Snow is the loud one. He curses like a normal under his breath as his fingers circle my hip, his lips on my cheek. It’s like he can’t believe I’m here with him. It’s like if he doesn’t touch me I’ll float away. I put my fingers in his hair and hold onto him like an anchor. Maybe I’m guilty of it too. We spent so much time repelling each other, it’s so much easier now to give in and stay as close as possible. I never really cared about my home before it became him. 

Snow moves away just for a moment, fumbling in the bedside drawer until he finds the lube. He’s stretched over me, his neck bared, and it’s just too tempting. There’s that stupid little mole on his neck and I just have to kiss it or I’ll die again. 

“Baz,” he chuckles, turning his face to kiss my lips again. “Hold your legs for me, love.” 

My grandfather would roll in his grave at the thought of the last-born male of the Pitch family spreading his legs for the mage’s heir. Former mage’s heir, really. He can carry on and roll as many times as he’d like, nothing could keep me from this.

Simon gets off on teasing me, and it’s infuriating every time. He circles my rim hesitantly, spreading the warming lube there, and it sends heat rushing to my chilled skin. Just holding on to Snow keeps me warm, and the irony is never lost on me. 

“Snow,” I grit between my teeth, “are you going to fuck me before noon or not?” 

He laughs easily, and we’re so close that it vibrates against my cock. I’m already getting hard again. He kisses the tip of my nose, and it’s infuriating how much I adore him. 

“Greedy,” he chides, and presses his middle finger inside. “I’ve already made you come once this morning.” 

I tug at his curls where they’re gripped between my fingers. “Once is just a primer, darling.” 

He gives a long-suffering groan and slips in another finger beside the first as he buries his face in my neck, bites at my collarbone. 

I brush my fingers through his hair as he works me open, being soft again. I give little moans and gasps as he moves his fingers, and I don’t fake a thing just to stroke his ego. Under the cover of his wings, everything is amplified. 

His warm tongue slides down the center of my chest, then over my nipple before his pink lips close around it. I whine lowly and bear down on his fingers. It causes them to brush against my prostate, and I could genuinely curse myself. 

“Simon,” I rasp against the shell of his ear, “‘m ready.” 

“Mm, that so?” He murmurs against my skin, moving on to the nipple on the other side. He bites it and my head falls backwards into the pillow. “I quite like this pace.”

His fingers curl and my lips fall open. He comes up to meet me, I can feel the smirk hidden in the corner of his bottom lip when he takes mine between his teeth. He knows he’s got me, completely and wholly. He always has, and he always will. Smug bastard. 

“Please,” I whisper, unashamed, “need it.” 

He draws his fingers away achingly slowly. It’s only then that I look down and notice he’s still wearing his pants, though they’re obviously tented and there’s a damp patch on the front. He wipes his fingers off on the fabric and hooks his thumbs on the elastic. 

He watches me watching him. He has that smug little smile on his face, the one I used to want to punch off of him. Now I just want to kiss it. 

I watch as his slides his boxers down and leaves them beside him. Snow has a gorgeous cock, that needs to be known. He was the chosen one, of course he’s hung. His cock is thick, so much so that I choked on my own spit the first time we undressed each other. It’s ridged with veins and flushed red to the tip. 

He leans over me on all fours, pushing his hips forward so that the head of his cock presses against the rim. I shudder and wrap my legs around his back, ankles crossed over each other. My heel digs into the base of his tail, and I feel it jerk, sensitive. The tail moves on its own accord, wrapping hot and slick around my ankle like a vine. 

“What is it that you want, Baz?” He murmurs, holding himself above me with strained restraint until I reach up to kiss him. 

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. I bare my fangs, letting them gently graze the shell of his ear. “Fuck me, and make love to me.” 

Simon grips my jaw in one hand, moves me back to meet my eyes. 

“That’s a promise,” he says, and then I’m gone. 

He kisses me hard, and waits until he has my tongue between his teeth to push inside in one clean, slow stroke. One palm is splayed out next to my head, fingers tangled in the mass of my hair where it’s in a state of tangles against the pillow. His other is against my lower stomach, fingertips like warm flames pressing into my skin. He’s still so close that our noses brush and we breathe together. He doesn’t give me any longer than I need to adjust before he moves with a gentle roll of his hips. 

“Simon,” I cry his name, and I don’t even know what i’m wishing for anymore. For him to stay buried deep or for him to carry on. For him to be with me forever or to end the both of us once and for all. 

Whatever it is, he gives it to me. 

When he’s making love to me, he looks me in the eye. I can focus on the slow drag of his movements. He forgets that I can hear everything, see everything. My senses are heightened, and I can feel every slow move he makes. I can see the blood rush to his cheeks and into his lip when he bites down on it. I can hear the soft gasps, I can practically hear him thinking. 

I can count all the colours of the sea in his eyes. Sometimes, it feels a lot like falling. Sometimes, I can close my eyes and see the stars surrounding us. 

Most times it feels like the lines between us blur, skin and synapses, until we are moving as one entity. 

It’s beautiful and lovely and we can carry on for an hour or more that way, but sometimes we also want to get off before the end of the world. 

We have a signal, and I don’t know when it became the signal. I didn’t plan on classically conditioning my boyfriend to fuck me harder when I pull his right ear, it was just something that happened. It’s not like I yank it or anything, I’m not an animal. It’s just a soft pull, and the look he’s giving me shifts slightly, his eyes narrow. 

“Faster?” He asks easily, mid-stroke, “or do you want to switch?” 

“Yeah, both,” I say with a quick nod. My body knows what I want before I do, and somehow Snow always catches up to the same page at just the right time. “Want to ride you.” 

Simon didn’t have many real celebrations growing up, but with the way his face glows like the sun when I say it you’d think it was christmas for him. 

“Yeah, alright,” he breathes out, and reaches down between us to carefully pull out. I whine at the loss, letting my legs fall down from where they wrapped around him. He seizes my mouth. 

I sigh, letting my tongue slide against his. He holds me around the waist and flips us over on the bed. We get distracted by snogging for a few minutes, rutting against each other the way we might have done when we were at school together if we hadn't been so keen on hating each other, perceptively. I mourn those many wasted nights, but at least I get this now. At least I get him. 

“Alright, enough,” I chuckle against his lips and kiss him again to defy myself. I force myself to turn around, my back to him where he’s lying against the pillows. His wings are still up, and the sun is brighter as it shines through them. A rosy red glow is cast over us because of it. I look back at him over my shoulder while I line myself up, and he’s watching me. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs as his fingers trace the small of my back. He’s always loved the curve of my back, the deep slopes of me. He kisses the soft corners the same way he does the sharp edges. 

I grind back against his prick, teasing. He gives me a little smirk, the kind that lets me know he’s thinking two can play. 

His tail has been suspiciously calm since releasing its grip on my ankle. It rests along the side of his outstretched legs and I have more pressing matters to attend to, seventeen centimeters more or less, so I ignore the tail. 

He grips the base of his cock in one hand and my hip bone with the other, helping to guide me down. He lets me go slower than before, allows me to set the pace as I seat myself. I close my eyes as I sink, relishing the perfect angle and feeling of being filled up again. I used to be hollow when I had nothing to keep me warm. I never feel like that anymore, not with him. 

I’m so wrapped up in the adoration itching at my throat that I don’t open my eyes to see the tail moving. 

Simon’s tail has slick, leathery scales that lay soft and flat when he’s relaxed, the tip of his tail fat and curved to a point. He has to be careful with where it goes, because it’s sensitive, delicate. 

So naturally, he catches me off guard and wraps his tail around my leaking cock. 

I moan shamelessly, my eyes instantly shooting open to look down. 

“Oh, fuck off,” I whimper desperately, my hips bucking on their own accord. It causes me to hit my prostate, and I know I’m done for. I had wanted to die kissing him, but dying while sitting on his cock with his tail wrapped around mine is a compromise i’d agree to. I look back at him again, pleading with my eyes, but he just has that smug curl to his lips. I recall seeing it just before I punched him down the stairs in fifth year, and I briefly feel better. He may have been the worst one in history, but Simon Snow still acts like the chosen one. 

I did say that I’d choose him, though, so I suppose I brought this torture on myself. 

He pushes the small of my back gently, prodding me. 

“Go on, love,” he encourages, low as he can manage, “fuck yourself, just like you want to.” 

He’s touching me, so I know he can feel the chill that runs down my back. He doesn’t say anything, just slides his hand around to rest on the top of my thigh. I lace my fingers with his and push my hips up. It’s a slow roll at first, and every time I shift up my cock slides in the tight grip of Snow’s tail. I rotate my hips, bear down on him hard. It’s only so that I can get re-adjusted, and it’s not going to carry on this way. 

“Look at that,” he praises me, the hand that’s not tangled in my own rubbing over the expanse of my back. “You take it so well, darling.” 

I bite my lip, clench down just to hear the break in his breathing. He can’t see it, but I smirk. Two can play. I’ll show him just how well I can take it. Maybe he was the chosen one, but we’re all chosen for something. 

I speed up, the rotation of my hips going shorter, harder. I hear a soft groan from him, and it only spurs me on. I go faster still, until my vision is blurred and all I can hear is the telling slap of skin on skin. This is exactly how I want it. 

The hand that’s holding mine tightens, and when I throw my head back because fuck how could i not, his spare hand buries itself in my hair. 

We become all sound, all feeling. Our words and thoughts are lost to us. All that exists is the push and the pull. There’s no amount of magic that could possibly compare to this. 

When I come again I hardly notice it. Simon’s tail is so slick and just as warm as the rest of him, so it doesn’t feel particularly different until the aftershocks tingle up my spine. 

Simon’s going on about something but I can barely hear him. My hips snap harder, determined. I know to push down hard when he pulls my hair, accidentally too rough. I love to bring him over the edge with me. 

I can feel it when he comes, and I lift his hand up to mine to kiss his palm. My hip moves slow again, back to the start, as he pulses. I keep riding him slow until the hand that’s in my hair reaches out to pull the shell of my ear. Start and stop.

I let go of his hands and look back over my shoulder to see how completely wrecked he looks. It’s well worth it, because he’s laying there with his eyes closed, chest heaving, and the flush that was previously only on his face has traveled all the way down his chest. He’s awash in pinks and bronze and little specs of starlight. Wherever it is that Simon came from, there must have been some magic involved in his creation. No one, mage’s heir or otherwise, should be allowed to look so completely delectable after fucking. 

His wings fall from sheer exhaustion of holding them in place and I wince at the hit of the sunlight. His tail falls back to his side, covered in my spunk. I try to avoid thinking of the mess we’ve made. There are more important issues at hand, and the sun offending me in my fragile post-coital state is the main one. 

“I’m coming down,” I murmur, and pull myself up onto my knees. We both groan when his cock slips out of me, and I quickly turn over and lay down on top of him, chest to chest. I pull the blankets over my head, hiding from the garish light. 

He chuckles and brushes his fingertips at the blanket’s edge, trying to poke through. 

“Open sesame,” He jokes and I roll my eyes and let him in anyway, the blanket going over us both. 

He holds my face in the palm of his hand and kisses me gently, like I’m something to be treasured. We stay like that until our lips are just another part of us that’s too sore, and I retreat to lay my head down on the curve of his shoulder. 

For a while, we both just let it be. 

Then his stomach grumbles. 

I’m boneless, but I nudge Simon until he groans and reluctantly begins to extract himself from my grip. It’s late morning and that means coffee for me and tea with scones for him (and some bacon if he can sneak it, which he will today. No way i’m moving). We’re still blissfully alone, but even so he slips his pants back on when he gets out of bed. I almost mourn the loss of the view as I watch him walk, wiping his tail down with a discarded bath towel he finds abandoned on the floor. 

“Simon.” 

I call it out when he’s rounding the doorway. He stops and peers back at me where i’m sprawled out on the bed. Our bed. He reads my mind, almost as if it’s magic. 

“I already know, love. Easy on the sugar with a splash of milk.” 

My lip curls up and I nod lightly. 

“Perfect,” I murmur, and he doesn’t know that I mean him. 

He rounds the doorway into the hall, but not a second later he’s poking his head back in, and his bronze curls are a fucking tragedy, damp with sweat and frizzed out at the sides. He still looks perfect, the bastard. 

“And you’re welcome by the way,” he grins wickedly, “you know, for the astonishing sex.” 

I groan and throw a pillow in his direction. It falls uselessly in the middle of the floor, not even reaching him. 

“Tosser,” I mumble, rolling over onto my front. I pull his pillow closer to make up for the absence and rest my chin on it, looking at him over my shoulder. I can still feel him there, the empty space between my legs. I count the ways that I ache, and it’s more than just physical. It’s disgusting, really, how much I love him. 

He must still be mind-reading because he tells me one last thing before he disappears into the hallway. 

“I love you too, Baz.” 

 

By the time Penelope comes back from Uni, I’ve taken a long bath and had my fill of lunch, and Simon ate all the rest. We’re on the sofa, my book resting on the arm and my legs tucked to the side of me. Simon lays down, taking up all the space as he’s stretched out. His head rests on my thigh, and I card my fingers into his still damp curls between turning pages. He’s watching some baking show and I don’t even need to look at him to see how content he is. 

We don’t bother looking up at the sound of the keys in the lock or the bustle of two sets of feet entering the flat to know who it is. We can tell by the soft utterances about the cold that Penelope’s brought the American over for supper. 

“Hello boys,” Micah calls out cheerily, and Simon and I both restrain ourselves from bursting out in laughter. It’s something he picked up from his girlfriend, and he attempts the accent and everything. Penelope thinks it’s adorable but won’t admit so, it’s just written all over her face. 

“What did y’all get done today?” He says, dropping Penelope’s accent for his own subtle drawl. They’re carrying in groceries and making a lot of noise in the kitchen with the rumple of paper bags. 

“I finished Baz a time or two,” Simon mumbles slickly under his breath just loud enough for me, and I smirk and push against his shoulder with my socked foot. 

“Not much, just lazed around,” I answer for us aloud. “Do you need any help?” 

I offer, but neither of us make any attempt at moving. They’re only here to use the kitchen anyway, since the one in the dorm Micah’s staying in during his program abroad is communal. 

“No thanks,” Penelope answers for them, and we all retreat to our corners of cozy solitude, all together. 

 

Micah is a wonderful cook, so Simon and I go to bed on full, happy stomachs. I turn down the fresh sheets while Simon just flops down uselessly and burrows his face into his pillow. 

“Don’t you fall asleep on me, Snow,” I settle into my half of the bed and turn on my side, facing away from him. “You’re big spoon tonight.” 

“Is that so?” He laughs, and the sheets rustle as he moves over. I’m already so warm, his arm around my waist and his chest pressed to my back is just the cherry on top. Or cherry scone, as it were.

We settle, staying quiet as our legs tangle and the wind blows in through the screen. 

In the moment between wakefulness and sleep, when he thinks I think he’s already asleep, I pretend I can read his mind too, and I whisper to him. 

“I love you too, Simon.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to say hi on tumblr @onotherflights! x


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